Rory's Story
by Shocktober
Summary: What happened to Rory after the Doctor left him and how he guarded the Pandorica. Chapter 3 up soon!
1. Chapter 1

One

Once the doctor was gone, a hush fell over the gloomy cavern of the under-henge. A quiet.

Drawing his sword, Rory sat down on the edge of the raised platform on which the Pandorica stood. He put the sword across his knees. Ready to use, should it come to it.

_2000 years_, he thought.

Never sleeping, the doctor had said. Awake for every second.

But it would be worth it.

_She _was worth it.

Amy.

He leaned back against the Pandorica, resting his head against the side. It seemed to thrum with invisible energy, vibrating through his centurion's helmet and into his skull. He imagined the same energy thrumming through Amy as she slept inside, undoing the damage he had done, bringing her back to life.

He thought back two years- or forward 1906 years, depending on which way you looked at it.

2008.

He had told Amy he loved her for the first time that year. She'd laughed, tossed back her hair in a wave of ginger and said,' well it's about time you said that, you big wimp!' It made him smile to remember.

And then, barely a few weeks later, Amy's imaginary friend had assailed him in a park, every bit as raggedy as she'd described to him back when they were both eight. And yeah, he suddenly realized what she'd meant- his hair never _had _been crazy enough.

He'd always been a pretty poor imitation.

It had been the maddest day of his life- well, he'd thought so at the time. From the coma patients taking a stroll in the park, to the man who saved the world from aliens… and then brought them all back again. For one day the world seemed to speed up, so it was almost an effort to keep up with it, but an effort worth making, however bewildering. And then the doctor was gone once again, raggedy no longer; a smart doctor, a bow-tied doctor, but still, it seemed, prone to the vanishing act.

Time passed slowly in the under-henge, never sleeping but always dreaming. Like Rory himself, the cavern was unchanging. It only took a few days for the torches to burn right down to their brackets, and they were gone. The statue-like monsters seemed to sink into the ground as day by day they crumbled. The next time Rory met a living being, ten years later, all that remained were the daleks, and vague, dusty shapes, barely recognizable as being… what was it?... Cybermen. Like the former guard of the Pandorica, the one he'd killed.

First he heard a sort of knocking and chiselling, as soil starting pouring down the steps into the chamber. Just a trickle at first, but soon clots of earth were tumbling down the stone steps, raising the dust from the ground for the first time in years. With a great creaking, groaning sound as the entrance- stone was rolled away, cold light shafted down into the chamber.

Rory lifted his head slightly. His neck was stiff. His whole _body _was stiff, stiff like plastic. He moved his arms, his sword slid onto the floor with an iron clang. He shook his head and dust drifted down from it. He had not moved for… quite a while. Stooping awkwardly down, he scooped up his sword.

In waking, he had almost forgotten what had woken him, then voices echoed down into the under-henge from above.

'Seems like the old man was right'.

'Not yet Tertius- even if the cave exists, any treasure will have been looted long ago. It was practically open- the stone wasn't even covering it properly. I definitely think someone's been here'.

The flickering light from two torches swelled at the entrance to the cavern. The heavy iron doors still stood open, as the doctor had left them. Seeing this, the second voice sneered,' you see? _Someone's _been here before us'.

The first torch appeared in the doorway, followed closely by it owner, a burly Roman man, a soldier. Rory knew from his stolen Roman knowledge that the man was a legionnaire, ranking under Rory. Back in the legion, almost ten years ago now, he had been in command of eighty legionnaires.

The man stopped still when he saw Rory standing there, his sword drawn. His companion, another legionnaire but skinnier and more runty-looking, almost walked right into him.

'Attilius! What is it?'

Then he saw Rory. For a moment, both men just stared, mouths slightly open, and then the first, the man called Attilius, drew his sword.

'Who are you and what are you doing here?' he said, holding his torch so that the harsh blaze bathed Rory's face in light.

'My name is…' Rory floundered,' Roranicus. I'm guarding the Pandorica'.

'And what's a pandorica?'

'Not _a _pandorica. _The _Pandorica. There's only one'.

The Roman's gaze drifted to the huge box behind Rory, the box that seemed to pulse with unearthly energy. Attilius was a seasoned soldier, hardened by many, many battles with the barbarians and the picts, and yet the box made him feel weird. He simultaneously wanted to stare and stare at it and look away.

'Did General Augustus send you?' asked Tertius, who wasn't looking at the box, but its centurion guard,' to protect the treasure until we got here?'

Rory thought about this,' yes', he said slowly,' he did. But as you can see- there is no treasure'.

Tertius snorted, sheathing his sword with a _chink _of metal.

'But_ that's_ the treasure. The legendary puzzle box Emporer Trajan desires so much. Looks pretty worthless to me. Some were saying it was made of gold.'

He walked up to the Pandorica; seemed to be about to put his hand on the side, but thought better of it at the last second. He turned to Rory.

'Any trouble', he asked,' any thieves? Because rumour has been spreading around the empire of a vast treasure buried under the druid stones. I would have thought the Emporer would request a legion'.

'No', replied Rory. He didn't like the Roman so close to the Pandorica, and kept his sword at hand,' no… thieves. Which is just as well, you know. No treasure here'.

Treasure… Rory gazed at the box. What it contained _was _treasure- to him. The Emporer Trajan looked set to be disappointed though. Particularly if he was expecting something made of gold.

'I'll get the slaves', said Attilius, backing out of the under-henge.

'Slaves?' said Rory.

'To dig it out'.

Tertius followed Attilius out of the underground chamber, and Rory, sheathing his sword quickly, ran after them.

Outside the world was frozen under a thick mantle of snow. It capped the stones with white and drifted down from the sky in swirling waves. The piercing cold took Rory by surprise after the muggy warmth of the under-henge. He stood at its entrance where the stone had been moved aside and watched as Attilius and Tertius tramped across to where the slaves stood, outside a large tent erected just outside the circle of stones.

He wondered what he was supposed to do now. If he was right, and his knowledge of how the Roman's worked ensured that, then there would be an entire armed guard in that tent. An armed guard ordered to bring back Emporer Trajan's treasure to Rome. Rory had no hope of fighting them all off. He doubted he had much hope fighting _one_ off- though his combat skills had improved, ever since he'd turned into a centurion. But if he allowed them to take the Pandorica away, then 2000 years in the future, when the doctor returned to the under-henge, it would be gone.

But he'd find it, wouldn't he. The doctor would find them, wherever they were. The best thing to do was go to Rome with the Romans.

Decided, Rory set off across the snow towards the tent, sinking in up to the ankles with every step. The cold burned through his sandals as the snow pressed against the gaps in them. If he was going all the way to Rome, without the help of an aeroplane or car, he would have to get some better shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

The General in charge of the guard was a wiry, tough man in his late forties called Gaius Decimus. Luckily, he was not the General Augustus that Rory was supposed to have been sent by, nor was he in direct contact with him, so Decimus couldn't really check whether Rory's orders really _were _to accompany the box back to Rome. Decimus just accepted them.

Another thing Decimus accepted extraordinarily readily was the appearance of the daleks on the second day. As the slaves dragged them out on long ropes, accidently chipping a large piece off one as it was heaved to the surface; the rest of the guard automatically took a few steps back.

'What are _they_?' said Tertius.

'They look like… sentries', murmured a dark-haired man called Atellus,' like guards'.

'They aren't', said Rory.

Everyone turned to face him.

'There's just statues- that's all', he shuffled uncomfortably.

_After-images… shadows._

It took all his willpower not to edge away from the dead stone daleks. He didn't want to appear weak in front of the men, but he kept imagining the eyestalk swivelling round, looking at him. Perhaps wondering how the programming of one of their duplicates could go so wrong.

Rory got to know the Romans a lot during the months that followed, as they slowly excavated into the under-henge, widening the steps so they could take the full bulk of the Pandorica. As well as Tertius and Attilius, there was Atellus, the dark-haired builder, in charge of the slaves; Gemellus, a centurion like Rory but serving in Italy, who hated the cold; Lupus, the dark-skinned legionnaire who was built wide and solid as a brick wall; and Costa, who still slightly disliked Rory, after he had laughed so hard when he first heard his name. Rory also got to know the slaves, to the bemusement of the rest of the guard. There was Ardan, the brit, Polites the greek, Cato the never-specified. There was also a well-built Nubian who never spoke to Rory or any other Roman, save to accept orders.

Their camp was pitched outside the circle of stone-henge. As well as the tent Rory had seen when he first emerged from the under-henge, which belonged to General Decimus, there was a tent for the centurions; Costa- and Roranicus of course; a tent for the legionnaires; Tertius, Attilius, Lupus, Gemellus and Atellus. There was a tent for the slaves and beyond that, the weapons tent, which currently housed alongside the swords, javelins, shields and armour; two stone daleks. The horses were kept in a makeshift stable consisting of a roughly built fence further away, with the wagon.

It was now Rory found that the year was 118 AD. He had been dreaming for 16 years.

It was quite a shock, to be honest. To discover one day you are now in your early forties. Forty-_four _to be exact. Who was he kidding- that was _mid _forties. He shook his head. He'd have to get used to it. He'd be 2000 before he saw Amy again.

'You alright, Roranicus?' it was Attilius. He had noticed Rory shake his head, as he, Lupus, Costa and Atellus sat round the fire. Everyone was eating, save for Rory. He hadn't been able to eat, not since he… found out. Not that he'd had the opportunity- but he'd never _felt _like eating, and now the feeling was being proved right.

'Oh yeah-fine'.

If the doctor was here, he'd know why- he'd at least have a few theories. Rory had been human. He had eaten. He had done human things, and he had _felt_ human. Even now, by firelight, he pushed his thumb into the skin of his arm and it gave. It wasn't rigid like plastic.

'You seem a little pre-occupied', continued Attilius, finishing his share of the deer he and Lupus had hunted that morning, and throwing the bones into the undergrowth.

'Thinking about home', said Rory slowly.

He had thought he was human- and he had eaten. Maybe… now he knew he didn't have to… But that was stupid. Silly.

So thought the immortal plastic centurion from Leadworth as he spoke to a bunch of Romans at the end of the world.

Lupus had looked up,' you're from Italy?' he said. Rory knew from past evening that Lupus came from a town called Brundisium, in the far south of the country- the 'heel' of Italy.

'No', said Rory,' I'm from a minor settlement here… place called… Leadworth- ium'.

He cringed inside, but they didn't stare at him sceptically, just continued to eat without relish, and poke the fire till it leapt higher.

Atellus seemed amused. He nudged Costa saying,' another native, then. You two could start a club'.

Rory smiled weakly as Costa elbowed Atellus in the ribs, not looking un-amused himself.

'You're from England? Anywhere around here?' inquired Rory.

Costa looked quizzical- he didn't inquire as to what the centurion meant by "Ing-land", just shook his head and replied,' born in the Camulodunum'.

Rory looked blank.

'Former capital?' Costa looked sceptical,' you know what the capital is _now_, don't you?'

Rory had not studied the Romans since Primary school year 3,'… Londinium?' he said tentatively.

Atellus grinned,' and here was us thinking you knew nothing!'

Rory shrugged. He realized that he had known all about Londinium and Camulodunum before. He wondered whether to be worried about this. Was he forgetting his life as a centurion? Or was this a good thing? To forget as he went along? To have 2000 years of memory stuffed in his head… Maybe it _was _a good thing.

He realized Atellus had said something to him.

'Sorry what?' he inquired, and for some reason the Romans found this funny.

'I _said_', said Atellus,' you do know which capital we're headed for now, don't you?'

Rory smiled widely,' you mean we're not bound for Londinium? I packed for the cold!'

They laughed. This was strange- Rory hanging around with guys, making them laugh. Rory had mates back home of course, but these Romans translated into modern times would be the football-louts; loud, joking and keen players. Rory had never made a crowd like this laugh.

'Come on centurion', Lupus had joined in,' keep guessing'.

Rory screwed up his face, enjoying himself,' hmm…' he frowned in mock puzzlement,' Paris?'

'You can't just make words up, centurion', laughed Lupus, finally tossing his animal bones- picked clean, onto the fire.

The evenings passed quickly in this fashion, and soon the day came when the stairs were wide enough to take the box, and the steps had been filled in with something like cement, creating a smooth slope.

The slaves strained against the ropes. From down in the underhenge, Rory could only imagine how much strain they were putting into it. The Pandorica was _heavy_- made of some strange, alien metal. Even hollow he could hardly believe they were doing it. Without the help of the rollers the weaker slaves were slotting underneath it, it would have been impossible.

'I often wondered', Rory lied,' Why does the Emporer Trajan want the Pandorica? How did he even hear about it?'

Down in the under-henge with him, watching as Tertias, Attilius, Gemellus and Lupus helped shore up the underside of the Pandorica, preventing it from sliding back into the underground chamber, was Costa. The older man shrugged,' soothsayers I believe', he said.

'Soothsayers?'

'Prophets'.

'Prophets?'

'Yes'.

'But… there's no such thing', Rory looked at Costa,' is there?'

Costa sighed,' in all honesty? He probably paid the location off someone who was lucky enough to stumble across it and not rich enough to bring it home themselves'.

Rory frowned because he didn't remember anyone finding him and the pandorica. No- Attilius and Tertius had been the first. He was sure of it. He said nothing, however, and continued to oversee the slow lifting of the pandorica from the chamber, for the most part with his stomach twisted, anxious.

Because he was the guard- it was his job to be.

It took the rest of the day to gently ease the Pandorica out of its underground home; and most of the night to carefully haul it into the back of a wagon and cover it over with heavy, protective sheets, like tarpaulin.

They said their good-nights that night with light hearts- tomorrow they were going home.

As always Rory lay, pretending to sleep, covered with a blanket looking up at the tent roof. The night was remarkably still- the unrelenting snow had finally stopped and all was quiet. He found himself thinking odd thoughts.

_Was it so hot in Italy he would melt?_

_If he had to fight, and got stabbed, would he mould back together like the Terminator? Or would he be broken like that for the rest of his "life"?_

_How would the doctor find him? How, 2000 years in the future, could anyone pick up a trail that old?_

Rory sighed, listening for a while to the unconscious paradox of his own breathing. He truly had been expertly made. He scented, tasted. He _felt_. At the moment he felt loneliness and determination and excitement and fear and, ever so slightly, boredom. Dreaming for 16 years was one thing. Here he had to pretend to be human.

Pretend to be human.

He almost laughed. Drawing parallels between himself and the doctor. That was always fun.

Gently, he rolled over. Costa was breathing gruffly and heavily across the tent. If he listened hard he could hear the faint sounds from the other tents too.

Eventually, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to dream awhile.


End file.
